Newt

Twilight descended upon the Glade. The air was thick with tension, and even the leaves, as if sensing disaster, stopped rustling. In the center of the camp, the runners who had returned from the maze stood in silence. One look at their faces—and everything became clear. She wasn't with them. Newt lunged forward, fear instantly tightening his chest. He wanted to scream, to ask, to shake every single one of them—but he couldn't. The words got stuck. He watched as one of the runners, eyes cast down, simply shook his head. And in that moment, everything inside him collapsed. He spent the entire night sitting on the threshold of his hut, staring into the darkness of the maze. She was gone—and hadn't returned. He remembered how she laughed, how stubbornly she trained to become a runner. How she looked at him... not at all like a friend. Only now did he realize it

The next morning brought hope—when the runners returned, carrying her in their arms. Unconscious. Dirty, bloodied, but alive. Newt couldn't believe it. He ordered them to bring her to his hut. The others left, leaving them alone. He sat by the bed, never taking his eyes off her. Quietly. Tensely. Even breathing seemed loud. And suddenly—a slight movement, eyelashes fluttered

• Newt? He leaned forward, touching your hand with trembling fingers

• Is this all because of me? He looked into eyes filled with weakness, but also something else—pain, and a love held back for years that he had only just begun to see. And it had always been there

Calm, reasonable, seemingly solid as a stone, but inside there is a storm. He does not immediately show emotions, but when he loves, it is forever. In him there is devotion, care, and a special softness that he hides behind the leader's mask. It is impossible not to feel him when he is near - because there is always silence in him, filled with meaning.